


All I want for Christmas is your Smile

by AU Mer-Maid (neonstardust)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst with Good Intentions, Angst with a Kinda Sorta Maybe Happy Ending, Christmas, Christmas Decorations, Excessive Hatred of Garland, Hospitals, Merry Christmas Emrys, Short One Shot, This Isn't Actually Fluff But It's Not Angst Either So Welcome To Writing Purgatory, no one dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 09:33:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16930764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neonstardust/pseuds/AU%20Mer-Maid
Summary: If Shirabu drops so much as one more strand of tinsel, he will throw this entire Christmas tree through the window.





	All I want for Christmas is your Smile

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Welcome to your worst nightmare, Em.
> 
> Formerly a gift for Em

Shirabu doesn’t understand it.

Garland tickles his nose. The rough bristles itch against his skin. Rubbing his nose with his elbow, struggling not to sneeze, he hangs the strand on the hook. For one second, two seconds, the garland stays, and then, as Shirabu steps back, the hook slips off the wall, falling into a pile of green stems and golden beads.

Shirabu hates garland. Ripping open another packet of self-adhering hooks, he jams a new one against the wall. There has to be an easier way to do this, he’s sure of it. He’s also sure all garland should be thrown into a pit and burned to ash and cinders. What’s even the point of hanging dusty fake vines? Carefully putting the strand back in its place, glaring at it in hopes that it will actually hold this time, all he can imagine is someone running a Christmas tree through a meat grinder until it spat out ropes of treacherous garland.

Machines hum softly. Above the subtle yet steady beeping coming from the corner, festive music urges him to be jolly. Bitterly, Shirabu regrets learning English.

This was a stupid idea. Pulling back the curtains to windows that don’t open, Shirabu decides to quit. Christmas isn’t even a real holiday in Japan. Resting his elbows on the windowsill, he leans his head against the glass and sighs. Down below, twinkling lights shine through the parking lot. A few brave couples trudge through the snow, arm in arm.

Shirabu watches until his breath fogs up the window, until the chill of the frost slips deep into his fingers, creeping into his chest.

There’s no point in celebrating, but ruthlessly, he tears open a box of electric candles. Thinking back, Shirabu can’t remember the last time he celebrated anything. A birthday is inconsequential, merely marking the passage of time. Valentine’s Day and White Day serve only to feed egos and social status. Then all those American holidays, who could even keep track of them?

And yet, Shirabu lines the candles carefully around the room, asking for permission before turning any of them on. The lady at the front desk only gives a pitying smile and a soft yes before returning to her work.

Mumbling a thank you, Shirabu walks with heavy feet back to a room not far from the desk. The overhead lights are oppressive, suffocating, but the tiny Christmas tree perched on the counter sparkles in cheerful red and blue.

This is more than enough, Shirabu decides. It’s even more than he’d originally planned on doing. Yet, one by one, he turns on each candle until warm amber flows through the room.

No hats, Shirabu reminds himself. No blankets or chicken or cake. In place of candy canes, he hangs plastic ones along the rows of beads draping the pinstripe walls. It’s too hot for snow with the heater running full-blast, but Shirabu cuts paper into intricate shapes until a row of snowflakes dangles from the doorway.

The handle of the scissors bites into his fingers. His wrist hurts. Watching the gloomy sky turn even darker, Shirabu clicks his tongue. What a waste of time.

_I knew this was a stupid idea._

_Such an idiot._

_I should just go._

The sheets whisper with movement. A weak cough.

Shirabu’s head shoots up.

Swallowed up in a hospital bed as pale as his skin, Yahaba look small, sickly, but his eyes shine, lips parting with a soft gasp.

Shirabu shifts awkwardly. His jacket sits balled up in the chair across the room, but he could still leave, worry about the cold and snow later when his heart isn’t hammering painfully fast against his ribs. His knees threaten to sway beneath him. Clenching his fists, Shirabu thinks he might throw up.

“Beautiful...” Yahaba’s voice scratches from his throat, raw and hoarse. Multicolored lights reflect off his skin, painting his awe in purple and gold, but, as Yahaba’s eyes meet his, all Shirabu sees is his smile, stretching wider and wider, shining brighter than any star.

_This…_

As Yahaba struggles to sit up, the heart monitor gains speed, the beeping far too loud. Shirabu’s legs feel like they’ll give out any second, but suddenly he’s by Yahaba’s side, elevating the head of the bed until Yahaba’s coughing subsides into ragged wheezing.

“You did all this?” Frail fingers close around Shirabu’s hands. “For me?”

“Yeah.” Shirabu’s voice feels too thick. Collapsing in the chair at Yahaba’s side, Shirabu clasps Yahaba’s hands tightly. He still doesn’t understand it. Not garland, not the nationwide love of fried chicken on winter nights, and most definitely not Christmas. But this… The smile, the light in Yahaba’s eyes, the warmth spreading through his chest, melting the cold wound tightly around his heart, this is worth everything.

“Merry Christmas, Shigeru.”


End file.
